


I got all I need when I got you and I

by Laurentia



Category: Home Fires (UK TV)
Genre: Gen, Sister-Sister Relationship, Snarky Jambusting Sisters - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-05 23:31:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6727756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laurentia/pseuds/Laurentia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Up to a point she recalled last night perfectly well. Steph’s house, then the barn, then the soldier…</p><p>He had left at dawn; that much she remembered very well and remembered also that he had looked almost apologetic as he went through the back door and into the dewy morning, gun in his pocket and eyes slightly less frantic than they had been before as he had glanced over his shoulder at her. And the moment she had locked the door behind him she had started to shake, all the panic she had been burying down for hours of making tea and toast and sandwiches and heating soup coming to the fore and making her whole body tremble.</p><p>And beyond that it was a bit of a blur."</p><p>Post 2.05. Sarah runs to the most obvious person.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I got all I need when I got you and I

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cassanabaratheon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassanabaratheon/gifts).



> A/N: I need this snarky jambusting family like oxygen. Sarah and Frances need to raise Noah together and be awesome aunties/mums.

The groggy feeling of having slept irregularly muted Sarah’s senses even after she woke up to find light streaming through the bedroom window and she found it impossible to stir until the clock in the hallway began to chime for one o’clock.

Slowly opening her eyes she was mildly surprised – though not especially perturbed – to find Frances’ ceiling above her and she blinked away the sleep in her eyes as she lifted her head and glanced around the room. The wellies she had worn to Steph’s were neatly placed under the dressing table and her overcoat rested on the back of the chair before it; half her clothes were folded neatly on top of the table and, reaching up, Sarah felt loose hair and assumed her scarf was amongst the pile. Quite how she had ended up at Frances’, and apparently undressed and gotten into the bed, she didn’t entirely remember but a perfunctory wriggle under the covers told her that she was at least wearing _something_ and of all the surprising places to wake up Frances’ house was easily the least distressing.

Sitting up she brushed the hair from her face and found curls in disarray. Sighing she briefly worried about the state she must look before deciding she didn’t entirely care and it wasn’t as though Frances was likely to judge her for it. Three months of grief had meant her finding her sister in all kinds of states so being moderately disheveled was hardly cause for alarm between them.

The clock finished chiming the hour in the hall just as Sarah felt her stomach rumble painfully and she grimaced at the taste in her mouth. What _was_ that?

Heavily she clambered out of the bed, the cool air from the open window immediately making her feel livelier and putting her feet on the ground she found a pair of slippers waiting for her and a dressing gown at the bottom of the bed. Apparently Frances wasn’t anticipating her getting dressed and once she got to her feet and shuffled across the room she counted her skirt and cardigan, but nothing else on the pile except for a message, written on Frances’ old-fashioned letter paper and in her sister’s loopy, jagged script: _‘They’re being washed. Come down when you’re hungry.’_

Rolling her eyes Sarah smiled at the note and tied the robe tighter around herself.

Up to a point she recalled last night perfectly well. Steph’s house, then the barn, then the soldier…

He had left at dawn; that much she remembered very well and remembered also that he had looked almost apologetic as he went through the back door and into the dewy morning, gun in his pocket and eyes slightly less frantic than they had been before as he had glanced over his shoulder at her. And the moment she had locked the door behind him she had started to shake, all the panic she had been burying down for hours of making tea and toast and sandwiches and heating soup coming to the fore and making her whole body tremble.

And beyond that it was a bit of a blur.

She could assume certain things though, or at least she did as she left the master bedroom and padded down the hall and the main stairs. She must have come to Frances’ in the midst of her panic and Frances had put her to bed…what time had that been? It couldn’t have been long after dawn which probably meant Frances would have been up already but what kind of state had she been in that she had slept this long?

Listening for voices downstairs she heard murmurs in the dining room and pushed open the door cautiously, not especially wanting to meet Claire and have to explain herself. Instead, and to her great relief, she found Frances at the head of the table and Noah sitting to her right, looking quite cheerful as he stared down at a magazine.

“There you are,” Frances said with a smile, getting up from her seat and coming around the table – the other side to where Noah was, Sarah noticed with a pang – to grasp her upper arms gently. “Are you feeling any better?”

“Better? I…yes, I suppose I must be,” at least she assumed so if her previous state had made her lose hours.

“Do you feel up to something to eat?” Frances smiled kindly and rubbed her shoulders. “I might have known you’d rouse in time for lunch.”

“Yes,” Sarah admitted with a small laugh. “I think my stomach woke me up.”

“I’m not surprised given how much of it you emptied this morning.”

Furrowing her brow Sarah leaned in, glancing at Noah to make sure he was occupied and kept her voice low.

“I was sick?”

“You don’t remember?” Frances asked, concern evident on her face.

“No. I remember being at home-“ Presumably she had already told Frances the next part? Although she doubted her sister would have demanded an explanation even if she had just turned up and thrown up everywhere. “And then I woke up here. I’m fine though,” she tried to reassure Frances, reaching up to take one of her hands. “I’m absolutely fine. Just a bit shaken I think.”

Nodding, but not looking especially convinced, Frances led her to the other adjacent chair and carefully laid a hand on her shoulder after she sat.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather go back to bed? I can bring something up for you?”

“As lovely as being waited on would be,” she leaned her head back, remembering the loose curls only when one fell down on her face and Frances gently moved it away. “I’m fine here. Really,” she said emphatically, righting her head and catching the curious eyes opposite her. “Hello Noah.”

“Hello,” he replied politely, looking so eerily like Peter now he was here in his domain that Sarah was amazed Frances had conceded to taking lunch with the child. Although the presence of a magazine did rather suggest Frances had taken measures to ensure she wouldn’t have to actually speak to him more than was absolutely necessary. “I hope you’re feeling better Mrs Collingborne. Mrs Barden said you weren’t very well this morning.”

“I’m fine thank you,” she said with a smile, cut off from pouring herself a glass of water by Frances jumping in to do it for her. She watched her sister for a moment – _Mrs Barden_ swimming in her head as she tried not to imagine what Noah must be thinking about the name, if he knew anything at all? Did he think Frances was an aunt he had always been kept from meeting? “And if you’d like to call me Sarah I don’t mind.”

Frances’ eyes blazed momentarily in the corner of her vision, a glass of water being placed down next to her hand with enough force to make the water slosh, if not spill. Sarah ignored her and smiled kindly at the little boy opposite her, who looked so unsure of himself as he picked up his ham sandwich and took a small bite that Sarah felt a burst of affection for him that took her aback.

She had never been bothered with children, not in the same way Frances had been once before…well, before it had been certain there weren’t going to be any, but she was not immune to their charms and Noah was too much his father’s son not be charming. Whatever there was of his mother in him she couldn’t see it at all, which probably wasn’t helping Frances’ mood. If Noah had been his mother’s son, or at least half-Helen in any way, then it might have been just enough for her to ignore his presence but he was _so_ like Peter he could have been Peter’s son with anybody.

And Sarah knew quite suddenly that Frances was torturing herself imagining this exact child but with copper hair falling in his eyes. Noah had Peter’s easy charm and like his father seemed to be content with wherever he was, not looking out windows and making plans for later as Sarah had seen Frances do a thousand times. He was the living embodiment of Peter, a stark reminder of him and the terrible feeling of failure that she had watched her sister struggle with for decades.

Under the table she nudged her foot against Frances’ and smiled encouragingly, not for a moment expecting Frances to join her in this concession to Noah but laying the seeds for the future maybe. Frances didn’t smile, but she did nudge back, and Sarah knew she wasn’t entirely wasting her time.

“What time did I get here this morning?” She asked, still feeling rather shaky about details and feeling the need to change the subject.

“About half past six. You were in quite the state.”

Sarah nodded, easily imagining it.

“Noah,” Frances turned her head, the first time Sarah had seen her acknowledge at the boy since she had come downstairs. “Don’t you have something for Sarah in your room?”

His eyes lit up and he gazed up at his hostess with an eager expression.

“Yes! Can I leave the table to fetch it please Mrs Barden?”

Frances looked pained by his politeness but nodded eventually, prompting the boy to shoot out of his seat and dart from the dining room.

“You didn’t have to send him away.”

“I didn’t. He really does have…well, you’ll see,” Frances rolled her eyes and rested her temple against her fingers, rubbing away a headache that was three months in the making. “Are you _sure_ you’re alright?”

“Yes, I told you-"

“Sarah, it’s not every day one gets held at gun point and forced to cook.”

“I’d rather that than the alternatives!”

The moment it was said Sarah grimaced, pursing her lips together and feeling tears form in her eyes before she could stop them. _That_ hadn’t happened – hadn’t even been a vague threat – but still the bile that rose in her throat reminded her of how easily it could have and how useless she would have been to stop anything and she was crying, sobbing for the god-knows-what-time that day. Frances was out of her seat before the first tear had chance to fall and holding her tight against her body and Sarah buried her face in her sister’s stomach, arms clinging to her back desperately as she tried to calm herself.

“Shh, it’s alright darling, it’s alright. I’ve got you.”

And just like it always had done since they were tiny Frances’ voice soothed her more than any other could. She remembered Frances' presence before their mother's, the warmth of a shared bed whenever she had nightmares and scuttled from her bed to her sister's and clung on like a limpet till she felt safe enough to sleep, remembered a hand only slightly bigger than hers leading her towards the schoolyard and telling her where everything was and if she was scared to come and find her.

Apparently the instruction was more deeply ingrained than she had realised.

“Frances, I was _so_ scared.”

“I know, but you’re safe now,” Frances had a hand in her hair, stroking the haphazard curls smooth and she felt a kiss being placed to the top of her head. “I’ve got you and you’re safe.”

“He could have _shot_ me and I’d have died in Steph’s stupid barn and you and I have been arguing and Adam wouldn’t even know and-"

“Sarah stop it. Stop torturing yourself with what _might_ have happened. You’re safe and he’s _gone_.”

“He won’t have gone far,” she said with bitter realisation, amazed suddenly that in her state she had actually left the relative safety of the locked up vicarage to run to Frances’ house. God, she must have been mad! What had possessed- oh right, _that_. “He’s been in my _house_ Frances. He was there in _my_ sitting room and used _my_ plates and he was in Adam’s chair and he might have shot me in my own house and-"

“It’s alright Sarah-"

“No it isn’t.”

“No,” Frances conceded, releasing her grip only so Sarah could turn her head and breathe properly. “No it isn’t, but he won’t get on my property without a fight so you’re safe.”

“You have patrols on the lawn to watch for deserters do you? Because I doubt Steph realised there was anybody on _her_ property.”

“Steph was exhausted and everybody knows she has stores of food, it was an easy and obvious place for someone to hide. I have the air raid shelter where all the village converge and, as you said, I have staff to keep an eye out for any intruders and I’ll shoot him myself if he comes anywhere near you again.” She pressed another kiss to her head. “If you recall I am quite a good shot.”

Laughing wetly Sarah wiped tears from her cheeks and found her face being lifted up by Frances’ steady hands, her sister’s thumb gently wiping away a few tears. Frances looked like she was on the verge of tears herself – but then she had looked like that for months now and Sarah missed how easily she used to laugh, missed the bright colours of her clothes and the sparkle in her eyes so much that it made her ache inside. An ache that was eased slightly by Frances pressing a kiss to her forehead, holding the two of them in the same place for a moment as they breathed the air together and drew strength – god almighty did they need strength.

"I can't lose you-"

The moment was broken when footsteps pounded on the staircase and Sarah smiled as Frances sighed and retook her seat, shuffling it closer so she could reach over and take Sarah’s hand with ease.

“Blow you nose by the way. I’m not having Noah thinking I allow snotty noses at the dinner table.”

Rolling her eyes Sarah smiled despite herself as she took the handkerchief Frances held out and cleaned her face, tucking it into the sleeve of her dressing gown just as Noah came back into the room. Clutching something behind his back he hesitantly shuffled closer to her, glancing at Frances but if her sister actually acknowledged him Sarah didn’t know because soon he was holding his mystery gift out to her. Taking it with an encouraging smile Sarah turned it over to find a homemade get well card, each letter coloured in a different hue and complete with a picture of a lion on the front.

“Is this for me?”

“Mrs Barden said you liked lions.”

Sarah turned to smile at her sister, unable to do anything but beam at the clear fact that Frances had taken the time to speak to Noah about something, even if it was just for her benefit. And the card, which she held delicately in her hand, opening it almost reverentially to see Noah's neat little handwriting inside, fastidiously joined up and just above Frances' much messier name, probably written using her favourite letter writing pen given that the paper appeared to be the same as the note she had found atop her clothes. 

"It's wonderful, thank you Noah!"

Beaming back her her Noah climbed back into his seat and rested his arms on the table as he picked up his sandwich again. Frances' eyes followed him for a moment, not quite as hostile as they had been before, but still guarded and as Sarah watched her watching him she wondered whether it was fear as much as anger. Frances had always longed for children but in never having them she had never really been around them either and this house was designed for a middle-aged couple, not a family; Sarah stood her card up on the table between them all and drank her water, feeling the bile regress and her hunger restate itself as she did. 

Deliberately she rested her elbows on the table in imitation of Noah, testing her theory as to why Frances' eyes were lingering on the child. Sure enough her sister turned her gaze upon her and noticed immediately how childishly she was sitting. 

"You're not funny you know?"

Smiling triumphantly Sarah moved her arms. "Noah, I'm sure your grandfather taught you not to put your elbows on the table didn't he?"

Nodding he did as he was told and Frances looked between them, a frown forming on her face. Sarah gripped her hand and squeezed, hoping her sister would understand the message and wasn't going to spend the whole day dwelling on her lack of skills in an arena she had never been tested before. 

"It's fine."

"No it isn't."

"But it can be. I promise."

Squeezing back Frances managed a small smile. 

"I told Alison I had to stay here for a little while but I do need to go to the factory this afternoon. Would you mind-?" Frances inclined her head to the young boy that was much more interested in the _Beano_ than her surreptitious way of finding him a babysitter. 

"No, of course not. We'll be here when you get back."

Smile turning slightly tighter Frances' eyes flickered to Noah before turning back to Sarah, focusing on her with almost desperate eyes. 

"You'll stay won't you? A few days or a week if you want to-"

"Or a fortnight maybe?" She said pointedly, remembering the time frame Mr Lakin had suggested and wondering idly whether it was even half-way realistic to think he would want to take the boy back to the city once Noah had settled in the country with a sort-of relative. 

"Or that, yes," Frances replied with a weary smile. 

"Of course I will," she said airily despite her intense relief at having a sanctuary to hide in for a few weeks. "Go on, go to work. I'll take Noah for a walk around the village later," Frances' eyes flashed with a panic Sarah immediately understood and she shook her head, mouthing 'I'll think of something' so he didn't hear, already planning to pass him off as any old evacuee. "Show him where everything is.

"Be careful," Frances said emphatically, both meanings not lost of Sarah as she squeezed her hand again. 

"I will." Sarah squeezed back. "We'll be fine. Won't we Noah?"

He nodded happily, smiling at her in the most disarmingly Peter-ish way but Sarah found it terribly endearing already - something that was quite the surprise given her general ambivalence to Peter himself over the years. 

"See? Noah can look after me while you're away."

Frances didn't look entirely convinced, but Sarah was sure, absolutely  _sure_ she could see the ghost of a smile on her face. Which was a good start. 


End file.
